10 Things I Hate About You
by Kurohana Hitsugi
Summary: The famous Heath Ledger movie, The Dark Knight style.    No one is going to take the Joker's case. No one except Bruce Wayne. -Friendship that will become something else, just give me time-
1. No one WANTS this case No one WANTS you!

"**I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you cute your hair. I hate the drive a car, I hate it when you stare. I hate your brown Italian shoes, and the way you read my mind. I hate you so much it makes me sick, and even makes me rhyme. I hate the way you're always right, I hate it when you lie. I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry. I hate it when you're not around, and the fact that you didn't call. But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you, not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all."**

The Joker was not one for idle chitchat. Magnificent and glorious monologues, yes. But smalltalk had never been his forte, and he doubted that it ever would be. So his current predicament was very uncomfortable for him. Joker sat, handcuffed, across from Commissioner Gordon in the treatment wing of Arkham. In Gordon's hands was a crappy cup of coffee, and in Joker's was a pen that he'd been twirling around his fingers to amuse himself during this horrendous interview, if you could even call it that.

"You're never, ever going to be released if this keeps up, Joker." Gordon said, his eye flicking between glaring at the Joker and glaring into his cup of coffee.

"This?" Joker asked. Gordon's glare settled on the Joker's face.

"This—these outbursts." Gordon said. "No one is going to even consider trying to rehabilitate or treat you if you keep attacking other inmates."

"_Ah…_" The Joker said.

"So, so, why did you attack Jonathon Crane today?" Gordon sounded weary, almost bored.

"He… _irritates_ me." Joker said, his deft fingers spinning the pen faster. "First of all, his last name is _Crane_ and he's tall and skinny and he dresses up as a _Scarecrow _who _instills_ _people_ with fear? And people say _I'm_ melodramatic." Gordon shook his head in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"_Seriously_?" The Joker said, sounded disgusted. He leaned as far forwards as the leg braces that held him to the chair would allow. "Ichabod Crane? _The_ Legend _of Sleepy Hollow_? What did _your_ parents read to _you_ as a bedtime story?" Gordon sighed and set his coffee down on the table.

"I don't know, fairy tales and not horror stories about headless men who ride around trying to decapitate total strangers." Gordon said with a shrug.

"Well, _I remember_ that… That and the _German_ story about the _little girl_ who lights _herself on fire_..." The Joker said, gazing absently at a spot behind Gordon. "_That_ was a _good story_…" Joker's scarred lips spread into a taunting smirk.

"Anyways, the point is that the Batman has volunteered someone to look after your case. Funnily enough, he's also the one paying for all of your security measures." Gordon said.

"Who's stupid enough to manage my case?" The Joker asked, and the answer was not far away.

"Me." Joker looked up to see a tall man in an expensive suit leaning in the corner.

"Joker, I'd like you to meet Mr. Bruce Wayne."


	2. You know, except him

"Bruce _Wayne_?" Joker asked, staring at the tall, well-groomed man in front of him. Bruce gave a little nod. "Wow. I _guess_ the only _question _now is why?" Bruce walked over to the table and motioned for Gordon to leave the two of them. Gordon did so reluctantly; the last time he left the Joker alone in a room with someone it hadn't ended well for anyone.

"I guess…" Bruce began as he took his seat. "I suppose the criminal mind interests me." Joker looked at Bruce, his eyes taking in the dark chocolate brown of his eyes and the curve of his chin. It seemed familiar, like the Joker had known him in another life, or a dream perhaps. But then again, the Joker's past was so scattered and shattered that the story was different every time, and the pieces of memory he could count on rearranged themselves in a seemingly random order whenever he woke up. So the Joker could very well have been a friend of Bruce Wayne's at Princeton, and just not remember it. Of course, Bruce might not recognize him either. Before… whatever had happened, Joker had looked different. Same eyes, only less wild, and his hard had been dark brown… The curls, those were the same. They were less greasy in school, though. He remembered how he looked before, but that was it. And he always wore purple. So maybe he could ask about that? But would it be odd to ask "Oh, and Brucey, did you ever know a boy with curly brown hair who wore combat boots and a purple suit?". No. No, he couldn't ask that. At least, not yet. He had to find out more about Bruce Wayne first.

"Is that the _only_ reason?" The Joker asked. Bruce sighed deeply and folded his hands on the table.

"When I was 10 my parents were murdered in front of me." Bruce stated. Joker's eyes widened and then narrowed. What was his angle? "I was… broken after that. I went to school and pretended to move on, for everyone else, and then I got kicked out. I was going to kill the man who killed my parents, but someone else beat me to it." Bruce paused. The Joker looked at him, still studying him curiously.

"And?" Joker asked.

"I was pissed off." Bruce said. "I left. I stayed gone for 7 years. No one knows this, but when I was gone I became involved in a good deal of criminal activity. I was arrested, and then I escaped and found training and peace of mind in the mountains of Tibet."

"Is there a _point_ to this _story_?" The Joker asked. He didn't mean to come across as insensitive, simply curious. But then again, being the antisocial personality that he was, he often came across as brass and unfeeling. His intonations and inflections were a backwards as the racial views of a redneck in the 30's.

"I did ramble a bit, didn't I?" Bruce chuckled. "Sorry. The point was that I went through a deal of trouble, and I almost lost myself in it. So I want to help people—"

"People like _me_, who just… **give in** to the trouble?" The Joker asked. "I'm _happy _the way I _am_, and I _wouldn't_ really _know_ how to be _any other me than the me that you see before you_, but if you wanna take _pretty ol' me_ for a _spin_, then **by all means**, _Brucey_! I'm yours, your _personal_ lab rat slash _**indebted**_ servant." Bruce looked at the Joker with a mixture of fear and confusion. The Joker licked his lips and sat back in his chair.

"That's… That's not—Thanks, I guess…" Bruce said, his face red and his throat dry. He hadn't meant for this to happen. Not at all.


	3. I drew you a picture

Bruce Wayne sat in his penthouse, mulling over the events of the evening. The Joker hadn't seemed unwilling to treatment, and he'd seemed genuinely interested in Bruce's life story. The version of the life story that only 3 people had ever known, and one of those 3 was dead now. The Joker reacted differently to him as Bruce that to him as Batman. When he was Batman the Joker was unrestrained, trying to push Bruce's buttons. But when he was Bruce Wayne… When he was Bruce Wayne it was almost as if the Joker was trying to speak to him as a person and not as one of two figureheads for ever-opposing morals.

"Tea, Master Wayne?" Alfred said, appearing at Bruce's side with a tray and an envelope. Bruce nodded.

"Who's the letter from?" Bruce asked. Alfred gave a shrug.

"I don't know, but it can't be good." Alfred said. Bruce's look caused further elaboration. "It's from Arkham, sir. I had MCU check it over for poison or human remains or explosives, but it appears to just be a letter." Bruce nodded and motioned for Alfred to set the tray down on the sidetable next to the armchair he sat in.

"Thanks Alfred." Bruce said. Alfred gave a curt nod.

"Will that be all, Master Wayne?" Bruce nodded. Alfred was almost to the door when Bruce spoke.

"Thanks, Alfred." Bruce was turned around in the chair, looking at Alfred with an expression have bemused and have grateful. Alfred chuckled.

"No trouble at all, Master Wayne." And then he left.

Bruce starred at the envelope. It was blank and void of either a to or return to address. Bruce ripped the letter open with the letter-opener that was also on the tray. He pulled out three sheets of standard weight printer paper. The writer was obvious at the first word, so distinct was the penmanship.

"Bruce. I'd like to thank you for you consideration of my case. Actually, that's some crap that Gordon wanted me to write. Sure, sure, I appreciate the offer, but I'm just wondering why Gotham's Prince would want to risk everything (money, sanity… the like) on me? Not that I'm complaining, but you seem to be a man in a pretty good place in his life (except for the fact that I killed your oldest friend… Uh, sorry about that. Nothing personal.) and taking on my case seems… crazy? Idiotic? Stupid? These words all suit my purposes. And unless you are a path to self-destruct (which I don't think you are) then this choice seems… CRAZY! Anyways, Gordon wants me to tell you that you should come by tomorrow between 1 and 7. So… Please enjoy this drawing I did of you. In complete insincerity, J."

Bruce looked at the last piece of paper. The drawing elongated his face and made him look dark and paled all at once. There were dark circles around his eyes and his neck was stick-thin, but the picture was amazing, all the same.


	4. Coffee does not equal date

Bruce arrived at Arkham at 2:35pm. He was lead to the cafeteria, where he saw one of the most hilarious things he'd seen in a while. The Joker was leaned over in his seat, bargaining with one of the staff members for something. Bruce approached the table, still sporting a lighthearted grin.

"I'll give you a _million dollars_ if you just get me _one_ cup of _coffee_!" The Joker said to the man, who merely shrugged and walked away. Joker ground his teeth and pouted, his lips drawing his scars into an odd 'W' shape.

"You want coffee?" Bruce asked as he slid into a seat. Joker glared at the billionaire in front of him.

"I haven't had coffee in over 2 months. I'm going _crazy_ in here." The Joker said, his voice becoming increasingly frantic. Bruce nodded. A coffee addict. Made sense, considering how tired and jittery he usually seemed. And it would explain the teeth, too.

"I'll make you a deal, okay?" Bruce asked. Joker leaned forwards, interested. "We can go out for coffee together after our session if you promise (a) that you won't try to run away or attack me and (b) that you'll answer some questions that I have for you now." The Joker tilted his head back and forth, considering. Finally, he nodded.

"Um, okay… Why do you think you are here?" Bruce asked. Joker chewed on a piece of meat loudly, licked his lips and then began.

"_Well_… I have done _things_… Things that are _considered_ outside the _social norm_… And you know, it's _never_ wrong to be _yourself_, until _yourself _is something that people uh, don't _understand_ or _fear_. Then you should be _somebody else_. That's a double standard. I _hate_ that." The Joker sat back in his chair and looked at Bruce with his eyebrows raised.

"Okay… Is there something I can call you? A name or something." Bruce noticed the narrowing of the Joker's eyes. "Not—not your name, if you don't want, but something other than "The Joker". For one, it's a bit pretentious and for two I'd like to be able to stick you with an actual name versus a title."

"Call me _J_." Joker said. "That should do."

"Thanks." Bruce said. "So… coffee?" Joker nodded.

It had taken a lot of persuasion and over two million dollars in bribes, but Bruce was now driving the Joker to small out of the way café in his Lamborghini. Joker was fiddling with the air conditioner slot as Bruce drove, and humming rather loudly.

"What's that?" Bruce asked. Joker looking up from the piece of plastic to Bruce.

"What?" Joker asked.

"What you're humming." Bruce explained. Joker looked to the ceiling, as if the answers were transcribed on the roof of the car.

"Um… Ah… Danse Macabre." Joker said after some consideration. Bruce gave a little gasp of recognition and pressed a button on the dash of the car. The car was soon filled with dramatic piano music. Joker grinned and continued humming along with the song, his twitchy finger making small circular motions in the air. He closed his eyes and swayed slightly with the music. Bruce could see something in the way that the Joker held himself that he played something, and was good at it.

"So what do you play?" Bruce asked. Joker's eyes snapped open.

"Ah, it's that obvious. Piano." He said, resuming his internal symphony and closing his eyes again. Slowly, one of his eyes opened.

"It's ah… _odd_," he began. "For me to… _get along_ with someone this well. The only other person I talk to like this is _Batman_, but… _Hmm_… Could _you_ be the _Bat_man?" Both of Joker's eyes opened and he looked at Bruce in profile. Bruce's knuckles turned white as his hands tightened around the steering wheel. This had always been a risk, but he hadn't thought that the Joker would see through him this quickly. They'd never met before so there hadn't ever been this possibility. But now…

"Makes _sense_…" Joker was musing to himself now. "You _were _absent from _your_ party, which was odd. And you do have the _money_ for the Batsuit, that thing can't be _cheap_. And you _do_ work with _Coleman Reece_, the man who _claimed_ to know Batman's identity. But as _you_ know, the _magic's_ in the _mystery_, so let's just pretend _this_ never _happened_, hmm?"

"I—I don't know what you're talking about…" Bruce said, trying to sound confident. The Joker hissed angrily and ground his teeth.

"No, no, no, no, no. You can _deny_ that _this_ happened, but don't _play me_ for a _fool_." The Joker said. "You're… _better_ than that. Even _I'm_ better than that."

They sat in silence for the rest of the drive, with the Joker absently fiddling with the air conditioning vent tab and Bruce thinking way too much about the situation. The café looked like nothing more than a skeezy dive, a hole in the wall. The Joker shot Bruce a look: 'This is where you hang out?'. Bruce nodded and stepped out of the car, opening the door for the Joker when he reached the other side. The Joker stepped out onto the pavement and stood still, just looking around. The sun felt bright after months in a dank cell. Of course, with Bruce's financial support he'd been given a much nicer cell (made of glass with a window overlooking Gotham) but still… It didn't compare. And Bruce looked at The Joker in a different light – literally. In the last 7 months the Joker's hair had washed and grown out and was now a mess of light brown curls that he'd pulled back with an elastic band. Without the war paint he looked like a normal human, aside from the scars that looked as though they would never fully heal. Though his eyes still looked like those of a wild animal, there was something else in them, a light that Bruce hadn't seen before.

"The air in Gotham still smells like _blood and fire_…" The Joker commented, looking at Bruce just in time to see him turn away quickly. Joker smirked, raising one eyebrow.

"_Lead on_, Bruce, lead _on_." Joker gave a dramatic wave of his hand. Bruce turned to him.

"Uh… could you also try not to get us arrested, please?" Bruce asked. "You're not even supposed to be outside of Arkham, let alone with me enjoying the best coffee in Gotham."

"I'm on my best behavior." Joker said. He followed Bruce into the café, which was so dimly lit that he had trouble seeing anything. This is probably why he brought me here, he thought.

Bruce sat them down in a corner booth and waved a waitress over. She was tall and faux-blonde, with a pastel pink smile and an obscenely large piece of chewing gum in her mouth.

"Can I take your order?" She asked perkily. Bruce looked down at the menu absently.

"Two very large cups of coffee… Actually, just bring us a pot of coffee and two mugs." The waitress was about to protest but Bruce silenced her with a fifty-dollar bill. She took the bill and snapped her gum loudly. The Joker cracked his neck in irritation.

"Chewing gum is really gross, chewing gum I hate the most." He muttered to himself as his fingers began tapping nervously on the tabletop. The woman glared at him.

"Do I know you?" She asked. The Joker looked up at her, his expression bored.

"Actually, _yes_. We _brushed elbows_ at a party about a month back." He said.

"Oh, doi!" She grinned and smacked her forehead. "Right, right! I remember you. Um… Jack?" Joker shrugged and smiled.

"Got me." He said. "So Suzan… Could you get us a couple _slices_ of whatever _pie and cake_ you have today?" She nodded at him and pranced away. Bruce turned to the Joker.

"What was that?" Bruce asked. Joker shrugged again.

"You said not to get arrested." He said.

"No, how did you know she'd believe you?" Bruce said.

"Because she's the _type_ to go to a party and get so _wasted_ that she doesn't remember a _thing_." Joker said. Bruce nodded, though he was still astonished. The Joker was charismatic, sure. A lot of psychopaths are. But… how did he just charm her like that? Bruce was used to being able to do the same thing, but he knew that he was attractive. Was the Joker attractive? Bruce turned to look at the man who had dumped sugar on the table and was now absently drawing spirals in it. He had good bone structure, Bruce thought. His eyes were nice and brown. He was fit, a bit lanky, but still fit. So… He could be seen as attractive. Maybe not as attractive as Bruce, but then again…

"You're, ah, _staring_ again." Joker said, snapping his fingers in front of Bruce's face. Bruce blushed red and stared intently at the table. The waitress returned to the table, taking in the two men and their positions (Bruce, flame red and nervously looking at the table, Joker looking intently at Bruce).

"So what's this?" She asked. Bruce and Joker looked up at her.

"This?" They asked in unison.

"How many years?" They looked at her in confusion. "This is your anniversary or something, right? By the way, I think it's super cute that you guys are okay with being out in public like this. It's like Brokeback Mountain! Oh, hey, you look a bit like that guy… Jake Gyllenhaal." She pointed to Bruce. "And you look a bit like that Heath Ledger guy… That's soo cute!" She set the plates, cups and pot of coffee on the table before bouncing away again.

"We're not on a date!" Bruce called after her. He sighed and dropped his head into his hands. The Joker patted his shoulder.

"There, there." He said sarcastically. Bruce glared at Joker.

"You're not helping." Bruce said. "Why are you so calm about this?"

"I'm the _top_." Joker said with a lewd grin. "So… There."


	5. Of Coffee and Cake

Bruce stared at the Joker for a minute, and the silence stretch on until—

"EYAAH?" Bruce screeched, his hands curled into fists on the table. Joker smirked happily as the rest of the café turned to look at them. This time he wasn't the freak causing the scene, and it made him feel all warm and tingly inside to know that even Bruce had a breaking point.

"No need to get all _excited_, Brucey." Joker said teasingly, his head tilted to the side. Bruce was bristling, and his fists were tightening.

"It's _just a joke_, Bruce. **Don't be so serious**." the Joker's expression had turned grim, but it had snapped Bruce out of his funk. His fists relaxed and his jaw loosened. Now, instead of being angry, he was simply curious.

"Do I look gay?" Bruce asked. The Joker's cheeks puffed out and he clamped his hands over his mouth but a few high-pitched giggles still escaped. Bruce huffed and crossed his arms. The Joker's giggles turned into laughter and Bruce, seeing that he probably wasn't going to shut up himself, poured him coffee and thrust it into his hands.

"Just drink it." Bruce said. Joker looked into the cup, then took a tentative sip. His eyes widened in shock.

"It's amazing." Bruce grinned at Joker, content.

"I told you." He said. "It's the best coffee in Gotham." The Joker nodded, closing his eyes as he took his next gulp of coffee. The coffee was black, no cream and no sugar, and burning hot. He could feel his tastebuds being cooking with the pure sensation, and he loved it. Bruce Wayne was an amazing person. Who else would do this? At that moment, the Joker decided that Bruce couldn't be Batman. Batman was horrible, yet wonderful. He made the Joker want to aim higher and try harder to irk him. Bruce, however, made the Joker feel just fine being himself. He could be lazy and calm and (dare he say it?) nice around Bruce. He couldn't around Batman. It just wasn't possible.

"Thanks for this." The Joker said when he'd finished his cup. Bruce smiled and refilled the mug. Joker nodded in thanks and then picked at random one of the plates of food and began to dig in. He'd picked a piece of chocolate cake with raspberries in between the layers of cake. Bruce watched as the Joker shoveled the cake into his mouth with such vigor that it almost seemed as though he hadn't just eaten 87 minutes ago. Bruce looked at the plates on the table. The waitress had brought a slice of every kind of dessert they'd had, so there was the cake the Joker was eating, a piece of peach pie, a brownie, a nanaimo bar, a slice of angel food cake, a slice of blueberry cheesecake and a piece of raspberry pie. Bruce picked out the cheesecake and began to eat it delicately, with the refinement of someone who'd spent hours learning the fine art of etiquette. The Joker looked up in time to see Bruce delicately picking away at the cake. The Joker poked Bruce in the shoulder.

"Neh ureoo dune eao runad—" The Joker swallowed the bite he'd been working on. "You're doing it wrong. Eating shouldn't be an art, it should be a pleasurable experience." Bruce glared at the Joker.

"It's not an 'art form ,'" He mocked. "It's just that I don't want to appear like a starved animal." The Joker returned his glare, and for a moment the two were locked in a staring contest.

"I need to piss." Joker said suddenly. Bruce, guessing that this would be an escape attempt, stood up.

"I'll come with you." He said. The Joker smirked again.

"Right. And you're not even a little bit gay?" He said with a teasing grin as they walked towards the washroom.


	6. The Whims of a Killer Clown

Bruce followed the Joker into the men's washroom. The clown proceeded to enter a stall. Bruce grabbed him by the shoulder.

"Hey, I thought you just had to pee?" Bruce said, sounding more confrontational than curious. The Joker chuckled and pulled at Bruce's fingers.

"Two things: One, I don't want to have _Gotham's_ Most Eligible _STD Carrier_ sizing me up _while I piss_. Two, how old are _you_, five? _Pee_?" The Joker said before closing the stall door. Bruce sat on the floor (shockingly clean) and kept and eye on the Joker's feet.

"Just so you know, I'm watching your feet." Bruce said.

"Great, _that'_s not creepy or _fetish-y at all_." The Joker returned.

"So trying to run away would be stupid and futile." Bruce said.

"**Resistance is **_**futile**_!" The Joker roared mockingly. "You're _going_ off your, uh… hinges, Brucey." Bruce stood at the sound of a zipper and a subsequent flush, and then watched as the Joker washed his hands thoroughly. With soap.

"If you observe proper hygiene with your hands, why not with your teeth?" Bruce asked.

"Uh… Well, I _do_ brush them. It's the _coffee_ that's _done it_ though." The Joker said. "And I _stab people_ with my hands, I don't _bite_ them. Unlike you, I wouldn't be happy being the AIDS _poster-boy_ of the year." Bruce glared daggers at the Joker, who responded with a yellow-toothed grin. He turned and walked out of the restroom.

"Sir, are you going to be—oh." The waitress had just returned in time to see the two of them coming out of the washroom. "Can I assume you're finished here?" Bruce was all too frustrated to give her one of his trademark smirks, or even a smile. He was weary, and he needed to get the Joker back to Arkham soon or Gordon would have his head on a pole, no matter how rich he was.

"Yes, thanks." Bruce said. He laid a few bills (50s) on the table and lead the Joker out of the café by his collar. The day had become evening, and the Joker was watching the sunset in awe.

"I never really _got into_ this nature stuff…" He mused. "That was Ivy's thing. But _I do see the appeal. _I guess."

"Ready to go back?" Bruce asked. Joker gazed at the pink-tinged clouds for a moment longer and then nodded, sliding into the shotgun seat in the car. Bruce turned the car on and soon they were speeding towards the asylum.

"Could you do me a _favor_?" the Joker asked. Bruce looked over suspiciously.

"What?" He asked.

"I would like _you_… to _stop_ at a drugstore and get me _some Advil_. I've got the _worst _headache, and the people _at Arkham_? Well they _like_ to see us suffer." The Joker said. Bruce sighed and turned off at a corner. He grabbed the medication and returned to the car to see the Joker absently playing tick-tack-toe in the condensation on the window. Bruce handed him the medicine. The Joker shook out a handful of pills, put all of them back (save for two) and then handed the bottle back to Bruce.

"Wouldn't want me to O.D, hmm?" The Joker asked sarcastically.

"You're too narcissistic to kill yourself, Joker. No matter how much you might like getting pummeled by The Batman, you're not suicidal." Bruce said as he cut back into the traffic on the highway. The Joker gave Bruce an odd sideways glance but otherwise made no comment. They reached the asylum by 5 and Bruce was home by 6, but he spent the rest of the night wondering why he'd spent the day indulging the whims of a psychopathic killer clown with no empathy.


	7. HAHAHAHAfreedomHAHAHAHA

It had been two weeks since the coffee adventure. The Joker sat in his cell (glass, with a window looking onto the Arkham Asylum parking lot), his back to the wall and his feet stretched out in front of him. He'd been forcibly changed out of his street clothing back into the crimson red of the Arkham jumpsuits. His socked feet moved fluidly, his toes curling and uncurling. His head was lolled back and his eyes were closed. He could have been sleeping, except that he was talking and every now and then a giggle would escape his smiling lips. The guards that walked past would rap their knuckles on the box, but to no avail. The Joker was in a good and happy mood, and he felt as though a fit of… uh, _inspiration_ might hit him soon.

He stood and stretched and then, suddenly was caught in a spasm. His limbs were twitching, he was foaming at the mouth a little bit, and it seemed as though he might not be able to stand for many more minutes. This was proven when he collapsed onto the ground. The guard who had tapped on his cell just moments before entered the cell, feeling the collapsed body for a pulse. There was no sign of one. The Joker was lifted and carried to the hospital ward. The guards left him on the table while they went to find a doctor.

Slowly, the Joker sat up. He shook his sleeve, revealing 5 of the 20-some Advil he'd snaked off Bruce.

"_Never_ gonna commit suicide, _hmm_?" He said to no one in particular. He stretched once more, swung his legs over the edge of the table and dropped silently to the floor. He walked to the door and peered around. No one in sight. He came back into the room, grabbed a syringe full of some form of narcotic and silently slipped out of the room.

The guards were walking back towards the hospital wing when they saw another one of their friends striding towards the staff parking lot exit.

"Hey, you're new, huh?" One of the guards called out. The slender man nodded.

"Y-yeah. I just got a call. My wife and kids are sick, so I've gotta split." He called over his shoulder. The other guards looked at their feet and shook their heads sympathetically.

"Poor guy." was the murmured phrase.

"Good luck!" the one who'd first spoken called after the guy, who waved over his shoulder at them before slipping out the back.

Once he was in the parking lot the Joker looked around, taking off his cap and shaking his head like a dog before repositioning the cap at a jaunty angle on his head. He smirked happily and walked around his (recently acquired) key, pressing the panic button. Eventually he found it; a sliver Volvo, airbags and all.

"Blah. Safety reviews." He said as he climbed into the car. He rummaged through the pockets of the uniform until he found a compact and powder brush (the man had a wife and had been getting her this for her birthday). He swiped it over his face until his scars were basically gone and pulled his blonde hair under the cap before driving out of the gates.

"Goodbye, Ark_ham_." He said cheerfully.


	8. Brucie Boy!

So sorry this is so late! I thought I'd have it done a week or so ago, but I got caught up in my own things… So… Here's Jack!

Bruce was walking down the street. He'd been offered a drive, but the weather was so nice today, and he wanted to take a long look at the city he'd thrived in. However, about half an hour into his walk he realized that nothing he was seeing was familiar. And that he was in the narrows. With a sigh, he wrapped his scarf around his neck and continued walking. He took a turn down an ally, hoping to be heading towards the shopping district. Suddenly there was a hand around his neck and another over his mouth. The last thing he heard before he passed out was a wheezy, falsetto laugh.

Bruce's eyes fluttered open slowly. He could feel that his back was tight and sore. He went to stretch and found that his arms were bound behind him to a chair.

"Ah, good, you're awake! It's always more fun with an audience." Bruce blinked at the man in front of him. War paint and hair-dye. Purple tailcoat and pants, blue shirt, green vest, and dark orange tie. A different look. The same Joker.

"Audience?" Bruce mumbled.

"_Stop me_ if you've heard this one—hold it_, don't_ stop me." The Joker said. "See, uh, a man's at home when the _phone rings_. It's the E.R. The doctor says 'sir, your wife's been in a terrible car accident and I have good news and bad news. The bad news is that she's lost the use of both her _arms and legs_, and will need your help to bath, feed and clothe herself for the remainder of her life'. _The man says_ 'my god, what's the good news?' the doctor says 'I'm kidding! She's dead.' " The Joker's eyebrows went up, expectantly. Bruce's expression hadn't changed from 'shocked and appalled'. The Joker sighed.

"Not a funny bone in _your_ body, hmm?" The Joker stopped the laugh that was threatening to bubble forwards. He leaned in to Bruce, lifting his chin so that he was looking into his eyes. Brown eyes met brown, Bruce's caramel and warm, Joker's chocolate and wild. Bruce was still a bit out of it, and his eyes rolled back into his head for a moment as he was struck with a sudden tired dizziness. The Joker slapped him lightly on the cheek.

"Come on, come on, don't go out on me now." He said. Bruce blinked and looked The Joker directly in the eyes. For a moment the Joker felt the same discomfort he'd felt back in the café. The same odd feeling that Bruce wasn't just looking at him, he was seeing him. Seeing inside of him. And not just seeing a monster, like the rest of the world. But then again… The woman at the café hadn't been offended. She'd tried to flirt with him. But she didn't know who he was. Then again, maybe that was for the best. Bruce blinked again, and his eyes focused on the Joker, full on.

"Aah!" He cried. The Joker stepped back. The moment was lost.

"I get that a lot. _Truth be told_?" Joker commented. "I think I make some people _nervous_." Bruce blinked rapidly, as if the Joker were some night-terror he could wish away.

"Sorry." Bruce said, once he'd decided that he was awake. "You scared me. I don't usually wake up with a face staring intently at me." The Joker's grin faded.

"What, so you don't mind the scars?" He asked, apparently serious.

"No, why would I?" In his recently awakened state, Bruce sounded honestly confused, as if he couldn't fathom a reason for being scared. Joker looked curious as well.

"I… But…" For the first time, the Joker was at a loss for words.

"Everyone has scars." Bruce said. "Some people, more than others. Lift my shirt."

"Oh hoh hoh, didn't know _Brucie boy_ was into _men_…" The Joker teased. "I'll bite… But not too _hard_, hmm?" Bruce scoffed angrily.

"Can you be serious for five minutes?" He asked, then bit his lip as he realized who he was asking.

"Fine, fine." Joker said, muttering something like "_vanilla playboy_". Joker crouched down, so that he was level with Bruce. He pulled off Bruce's scarf first, and then unbuttoned his jacket. The tie came off next, followed shortly by the unbuttoning of his dress shirt. Joker looked at Bruce's muscled chest, his mouth impassive, but his eyes curious… or impressed.

Bruce's chest was a patchwork cloth of scars. You couldn't measure 5 inches in any direction without finding another. Some of them were old, just long white ridges, while others still had stitches in them. Joker poked one of these and couldn't help but enjoy the sound Bruce made, somewhere between a growl and a groan.

"What do you want from me, Joker?" Bruce asked.

"Want? I _want_ you to _set… me… free_. To allow me _parole _of a sort, even if it is only you as my _officer_." Joker said. Bruce's eyes widened in shock. How could he even think that Bruce would agree to something like this?

"And if my… Uh, _word_ isn't enough for you, well then, I suppose I'll just kill them." Joker jerked his thumb over to the corner of the warehouse, where Bruce could now see the form of three police officers, passed out and bound similarly to him.

"Let them go, and then we'll talk." Bruce said through gritted teeth. He wouldn't, couldn't, have more cop blood on his hands.

"Hmm? Why don't we talk **now**. You know, as they say, _their time is running out_." Joker said.

"I don't want to play your games, Joker!" Bruce yelled. Joker grinned happily.

"Oh it's no game. See? They're attached to a timed bomb." He pointed. "Speaking of which, you should make up your mind soon. I didn't expect you to sleep this long."

"Let. Them. Go." Bruce growled. Joker cackled and slapped his knee for added effect.

"No, no, no, Bruce. Help me out, and then they go free." Joker said, sitting down beside Bruce. "Or we could wait for good old Guano Man to show up!"

Bruce sighed. Batman wouldn't arrive, he was already here. And what else could he do but crumble before the Joker… again. There wasn't a way to stand up against the Joker without hurting others. There wasn't a way to do this without breaking his code. There… There wasn't a way…

"Fine. I'll do it."


End file.
